


in retrospect, the hands

by triforced



Series: in retrospect [5]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post TFA, Resistance family, Stormpilot, sexin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triforced/pseuds/triforced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn's hands really ought to have caused a scandal or twenty by now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in retrospect, the hands

In retrospect-

Finn's hands really ought to have caused a scandal or twenty by now. (Poe's given this a great deal of thought, and the scandals he concocts in his own head don't count; if they did, he'd keep the entirety of the Resistance entertained for years on end.) Oh, sure, he's seen plenty of nice hands in his lifetime, and he's been touched by plenty of nice hands, but none of them stand up in comparison to Finn's. Poe doesn't want to be one of those people, but - yeah, he's definitely one of those people.

Still.

Finn's hands are rough, callused from years of manual labor, from handling weapons, and they're strong, with a firm grip and lithe, nimble fingers that flicker over a trigger like they were made to do so. Finn has magic hands, and you'd be hard-pressed to convince Poe otherwise.

 

_

 

"Put your hands on me," he says, urgently, his own hands tugging at the hem of Finn's shirt. "Just- anywhere, put them on me, if you don't touch me soon I'm gonna die-"

The shuttle is on autopilot- they have about an hour before they reach the base on D'Qar. Prior to today, they'd been separated for about three days, and it had begun to nudge the limits of what either of them could handle- nudge, not quite test. Even so, if the way they flung themselves at each other the minute they were alone is any indication, they probably won't do so hot if they're forced to be apart much longer than this.

Finn laughs quietly, his hands in Poe's hair. "Impatient." He cups the base of his skull, draws him in for a kiss, and Poe kisses back like a desperate, hungry, greedy urchin bent on devouring Finn whole, which, in a way, he is. He's since dragged the shirt up enough that Finn has to release him so Poe can claw it over his head and fling it off; Poe had already divested himself of his jacket and shirt at the start of this, and is currently shinnying out of his boots while also moving in to kiss Finn again because their mouths need to be together. Poe wants to kiss him until they're numb, until they're panting and they need to break for air over and over and over again (either that, or until they meld together and you can't separate one from the other).

"Touch me," he begs, like Finn isn't already touching him, with his mouth trailing kisses along his jaw, and Finn smiles - Poe feels the corners of his lips turn up.

"You said you didn't care where," Finn reminds him, cheeky, but he slides his hands down beneath the loose waistband of Poe's pants on either side of his hips, tucks them in there like the promise of something else, and Poe groans in a purely theatrical fashion, both out of the sensation of it and out of the need for a lot more than that.

"Sometimes," he growls, kicking his boots off, "you can be such a brat."

Perhaps, to prove his point, Finn decides to stick his tongue out at him.

And for a long moment, all Poe can do is blink stupidly.

Oh, the game is _on_.

 

_

 

Poe likes to watch Finn when he demonstrates targeting. (That sounds sort of creepy - how about, he likes to observe Finn when he demonstrates targeting? He likes to be present during Finn's demonstrations on targeting?)

"Line up your shot, keep your aim steady. Don't ever waste ammo - First Order stormtroopers are drilled daily." Finn walks up and down the length of his assembled audience, his blaster rifle perched on his shoulder "One of the things their squad leaders look for is how many times they've discharged their rifles in direct relation to how many hits scored." He smiles a self-deprecating sort of smile. "Though I'm sure that's not news."

Answering grins as he turns to face the targets set at roughly five-hundred meters away, on trees, though Finn had shot moving targets before as well. Poe, naturally part of said audience, feels a giddy sort of anticipation when Finn brings the rifle up, sighs his first shot, and fires, hitting the target dead center like he always does. Without pause, he aims, fires off a second shot, then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, all of them striking home. He never wavers, his hands rock solid on the rifle, as if it is an extension of himself. It's incredible, and a little bit heartbreaking, to think of how Finn got here, to think of how he learned such a formidable and, on the same token, beautiful skill, but we're all shaped by our experiences, no matter what they are.

And even if we're shaped by them, it doesn't mean we're _defined_ by them.

What it does mean, however, while Finn steps aside for others to have a go at the targets, is that Poe is plotting, even as he lines up himself, how to get Finn's hands on him as soon as possible. Which. Is the usual outcome of targeting demonstrations.

That might explain why Finn winks at him discreetly.

Or maybe not discreetly, as Jess rolls her eyes so hard, Poe wonders if they're about to roll right out of her head.

 

_

 

Thank all the stars Finn had the foresight to bring salve with him, or they'd have to settle for rutting against each other, and while rutting is perfectly adequate - it's just that. Adequate. At least, in this particular scenario. Nothing else would satisfy Poe better than being buried hilt-deep in Finn, chest to back, their bodies almost flush, fingers twined together, their harsh breaths filling the tiny shuttle.

"Do you like this? Do you like my dick in you, baby? Does it feel good?"

Finn lifts one of their entwined hands and smacks it down on the floor as confirmation. " _Yeah_ \- " he chokes out, and Poe bites down on Finn's shoulder to keep from losing it right there.

Normally, he's the one who bottoms between the two of them because he likes it, likes the feeling of a cock up his ass, likes being stretched almost to the point of pain, likes being taken care of in that way, likes how _Finn_ likes it, but on occasion, the mood hits and they switch things up and the results are often mind-blowing (not that they aren't already mind-blowing, just in a different way). But since it happens so sparingly, Poe wants this to last for as long as it possibly can - within the time they have remaining before they reach D'Qar, anyhow. At this rate, though, he won't last another minute.

Especially not when Finn says, "Harder, Poe. I need - You're not gonna break me."

Poe forgets how to breathe. Holy shit.

Even though it kills him to do so, he pulls out of Finn - who actually _whimpers_ a bit in protest - and flips him around so that he's on his back and they're facing each other, they should always be facing each other when they come. He leans down, seals his mouth over Finn's before he presses back in, swiftly and hard and they both moan, their hands scrambling to come together. Poe sets the pace Finn asked for, even though it drags him so close to the edge he's teetering dangerously, the sound of skin on skin a sharp counterpoint to their labored breathing.

"Finn- baby I - fuck, I'm gonna come."

"Me too, just - hurry up, just-"

Poe, determined to bring Finn off before him, frees one of his hands and wraps it around Finn's cock, pumping it with smooth, practiced strokes (as best as he can while he's falling apart). Finn's eyes widen, his mouth drops open, and he comes suddenly, spurting over Poe's hand.

He doesn't last much longer after that; another jerky thrust or two and he empties himself inside of Finn with a shout, completely and utterly wrecked. Finn chuckles when he collapses on top of him in a sweaty heap.

"Not bad, for a fossil. Guess I'll hold off on submitting you to the museum for a while."

Through his pleasure-sated haze (and his sweat-soaked hair), Poe gives Finn a _look_.

Finn pats him on the top of his head.

 

_

 

It is a very good thing Finn has magic hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, elenorasweet, for the prompt on this one! Hope you guys enjoyed. :3


End file.
